


maybe i just wanna be yours

by eso (cazzy)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dancing, Fancy galas, First Times, M/M, Mutual Pining, fast burn, improper utilization of iverson's desk, like a goddamn forest fire, pining and jealous keith, warning: paladins in suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9550685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazzy/pseuds/eso
Summary: One substantial fact of import that he seems to have forgotten: Keith is a horrid dancer.This he knows, but embarrassing himself publicly in front of people he despises seems a more desirable fate than letting some random Garrison student distract Lance enough for his eyes to stop continuously tracking Keith’s frame.He’s not jealous, he tells himself. It’s just that Lance is one of Voltron’s paladins, and he can do way better than some random human who has never seen the way Lance handles a gun, or saves the lives of his friends from hundreds of feet away.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soottea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soottea/gifts).



> THIS FIC IS A BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO SOMEONE I LOVE VERY MUCH. I hope you enjoy this, Bron. Happy birthday!
> 
> (This was supposed to be a short little thing and ended up 6k, oh god someone please help me I have a problem)

If Lance doesn't stop shooting him glances, Keith is going to lose it.

His immediate thoughts are along the lines of: _who's going to tell him that he can't snipe people with his eyeballs,_ but then that makes him think about how incredibly blueLance's eyes are, and how he _could_ probably stop someone in their tracks if they did manage to lock gazes with him, and then it's all downhill from there. Keith forces his thoughts to halt immediately before they spiral even further out of his control.

Perhaps the most frustrating part of it all is that, with Lance checking on him so frequently, it’s nearly impossible for Keith to subtly ogle _him_ with his long, long legs encased in dark fabric and an expensive suit jacket draping across his wide shoulders. It’s a tragedy of epic proportions, because the way Lance looks in a suit is probably illegal in certain sectors of the universe. Garrison dress uniforms have always felt like a prison over his skin, too tight and impossible to move in comfortably should a combat situation arise, but on Lance’s frame they look like the fine robes of royalty, and it just isn’t _fair._

All of this considered, Keith is having a terrible time at this diplomatic ball.

Defeating Zarkon and finally, finally returning to Earth should feel like the victory that it is. It was no small feat to win such a vital battle, and Keith still isn't entirely sure how the lot of them managed to survive it relatively unscathed. There's still a lot of work to be done. Between imprisoning countless Galra soldiers and grappling with intergalactic federations in order to scrape together some semblance of control in a universe that's been suddenly relieved of a despotic, cruel ruler, it feels like none of them have rested for days.

It had been Pidge's idea to dig for Earth's coordinates and beg Allura for the trip. Only Hunk's diplomatic way of wording it – _Look, Allura, we're all really tired and maybe seeing our families would help motivate us to do more of this political legwork. Besides, we can form an official alliance with everyone in the Milky Way, which would be_ awesome – had convinced her to allow them one Earth-week to conduct their business.

Which brings them to now: standing in a vast, extravagant room as the Garrison throws the paladins of Voltron some kind of Saviors-of-the-Universe Gala.

It's uncomfortable, to say the least, especially since Keith isn't convinced at all that they're as altruistic of an organization as they claim to be. He doesn’t trust anyone in the Garrison as far as he can throw them, but they _are_ the leading Earth facility in space travel, and therefore have taken up the mantle of communicating with Allura and, by proxy, Voltron, should any alien emergency befall the planet.

The paladins of Voltron have sworn to protect everyone in the universe, even if some of those under their protection are comprised of the people who were quick to ruin Shiro’s name and condemn him for the failure of the Kerberos mission. KEith personally thinks his grudge is rather justified.

Being here is a lot more intimidating than hosting a party at the castleship for the Arusians was, probably because the sharp cut of Garrison uniforms reminds Keith that some of the people in this vast room are more of a formidable enemy than the fiercest Galra ever were. Humans bring their own brand of cruelty, and it's something he'll never quite forget. Acting like a professional in front of alien species is one thing, but these people _know_ him. They knew him at his worst, angry and reckless, and kicked him out when he got a little too loud about the suspicious circumstances of them losing one of their best pilots.

He's well aware that some of them probably still perceive him as a threat, and wonders how they'd act if they knew about Keith's alien heritage. What would they do, if he looked more like his mother? They've been fortunate up until this point – Allura and Coran both look human enough that the revelation of them being alien wasn't too much of a shock, and the Garrison staff have seemed fairly receptive to otherworldly tech like their lions, but when it comes down to it, humans are fickle, unpredictable creatures.

Combined with the way Lance keeps looking at him, Keith has been on edge all evening.

“Relax,” a voice says softly, and Keith turns to see Shiro stepping beside him. “You don't have to be so on edge here. We're safe."

That doesn't feel necessarily true, considering the way the Garrison had thrown him out with only the clothes on his back and a snarled warning to never return, but if Shiro can somehow walk around this shiny-floored room without feeling animosity toward the people who strapped him to a table upon his return to Earth, then Keith supposes he can give it a shot, too.

“You always handled these functions way better than I ever could,” Keith says, trying to do as his mentor says by forcing the tense muscles of his shoulders to go lax. Shiro’s presence calms him in a way, grounds him and reminds him that this is essentially nothing more than another diplomatic mission. They've had countless assignments like this before.

"Experience," he responds with a wry smile. "I'd rather be out and doing something useful than pretending to be comfortable in an impractical uniform, but sometimes you have to do things you dislike for the greater good."

He's not particularly in the mood for a lecture on the responsibilities of Voltron – they've been together for years now, and isn't that enough proof that he understands completely? Keith is about to respond when he notices that Lance is looking at him again.

Distracted, he loses all other trains of thought as he stares back. Lance's gaze looks kind of unfocused from this far away, although he doesn't seem to be looking at Keith with anything like disdain. Keith has a hard enough time pretending Lance isn't intriguing when they're apart; it's nearly impossible when he's looking directly at him with incomprehensible emotions on his face. He's like a puzzle that Keith wants to figure out, even though he knows Lance purposefully keeps pieces out of reach, and there will always be gaps in the resulting picture.

They’re not supposed to hide things from each other, but it’s a risk Keith is willing to take. His secret hasn't been enough to stop them from forming Voltron, anyway, and so the quiet affection that Keith started feeling for Lance years ago has bloomed into something bigger, more dangerous the longer they've fought the Galra. It's settled deep into his bones, become a part of him.

Now that their goal has been achieved, though, sitting on the feeling is strange, but more threats crop up every day, and it's clear their job will never truly be over. Protecting the universe is an important task, and the risk of Keith revealing that Lance affects him so profoundly is far too great to bring to light. 

With the thoughts clouding his mind, Keith grits his teeth and almost makes his way over to Lance to flat-out ask why he keeps staring with a strange expression on his face, when someone beats him there.

It’s not anybody that Keith recognizes, but as a Garrison dropout, that doesn’t really mean much. The guy is cute enough, he supposes, with shaggy blond hair and dimples that appear at the corners of his mouth when he smiles brightly at Lance. (Which, Keith quickly notices with disdain, appears to be happening quite a lot.)

Not much time passes before the two of them are smiling and laughing, and the fact that Lance hasn’t moved on to interact with anyone else, that he seems to be satisfied accepting the meaningful looks the student is shooting him, puts a foul taste in Keith’s mouth. He looks genuinely pleased to be talking to the guy, hands gesticulating wildly as he regales him with stories surely relating to Voltron. 

Lance soaks up positive attention like a sponge from essentially everyone except Keith _._ Every time he tries to compliment Lance, or expresses the fact that he's thought of them as friends for awhile, now, all he receives is a suspicious narrowing of Lance's eyes as though he refuses to believe that anything positive Keith says could possibly be true. It's a wound that has festered for quite a while, and Keith can't help but scowl as he watches Lance rub his head sheepishly before following the blond student out toward the dance floor.

On top of it all, Lance has refrained from dancing all evening – Keith knows this because he's avoided the dance floor, as well, and maybe has a fixation with checking on the blue paladin frequently – but he looks pleased to be on it, now, with this stranger he had met not five minutes before. The music filling the room isn't quite slow enough for something immensely intimate, but Keith still tracks the blond's movements as he places his hands on Lance's waist and they both start to sway.

Keith quickly reevaluates: the worst part of this night is not, surprisingly, having to share a room with humans who lied to him, but rather the fact that Lance can _move,_ and he's currently displaying that prowess with someone that isn't Keith. The blond slips his own hand into the outstretched curve of Lance's, and together they move across the floor in a sophisticated way that Keith never thought possible coming from him.

He feels sick.

They're far too close to one another. He watches, a pit forming in his stomach, as the student's hand brushes gently against Lance's lower back one too many times to be pure coincidence, and he suddenly can't take it anymore.

He tries to be diplomatic, really. But as annoying as Lance's eyes on him all night have been, now that they're distracted by some blond idiot, Keith misses it. And if there's one thing that he excels at, it's drawing Lance's attention toward him – even if it's negative, it's better than nothing, especially now.

"Sorry," Keith lies as he approaches, trying not to think too much about how warm Lance is as his fingers curl around his upper arm, "have to steal him for some official business."

"Wh-" Lance starts, but then he's being forcibly tugged away, and Keith swallows down his annoyance as he offers a genuinely apologetic smile to the blond and says, "I'm so sorry, we forgot to bring his leash tonight."

Once they're out of hearing range, though, Lance's smile falls away and the look in his eyes shifts into something more serious. It reminds Keith of the fact that they're both battle-hardened warriors.

"Is everything alright? Do we need to get our lions?"

"No," he says immediately and honestly, because there's no need to lie about it. Nobody's in danger, except maybe Keith, because his stupid chest is tight with a feeling that is definitely _not_ anything close to jealousy.

When he doesn't say anything else, though, Lance tugs his lower lip into his mouth with his teeth, and okay, with a gesture like that, Keith is _definitely_ in danger. "Then why'd you drag me away from Andrew?"

Keith files the name away, putting the blond's impending doom for talking to Lance on the backburner for now. "You kept looking at me," he says almost desperately, grabbing at any valid excuse to justify his actions. "I figured you were trying to communicate that you needed an out through morse code blinking, or something.”

It catches him off-guard, that much is clear. Lance sputters for a moment before saying in a tone that doesn't _quite_ manage to sound offhanded,  “I’m just shocked that you managed to clean up so nicely. Thought the overgrown greasy hair and unwashed clothing look was the only one you knew how to rock."

“You honestly think these stuffy uniforms look better than our armor?” he asks, not taking the bait. There's something more here than Lance staring at him all evening because he's not in his casual clothes, and he’s determined to figure out what it is.

“Well, they look good on me. And Shiro,” he adds. “You’re… not entirely a lost cause.”

Keith narrows his eyes in suspicion. “You’ve been watching me for hours because I’m ‘not a lost cause?’”

Lance clears his throat loudly. Nervously. “ _Anyway._ I was having a great time with Andrew, so I’m not sure your alibi holds, Keith. Which means you wanted my attention.”

It's moments like these where Keith forgets that behind Lance’s carefree attitude is a startling sense of intelligence. The reason Lance provides holds more water than _You were getting too friendly with_ Andrew _for my tastes_ , though, and so he averts his gaze and nods almost imperceptibly.

"Oh, man," he says, a laugh spilling out past his lips. “Weren’t you a hotshot here? You really can’t find anyone to socialize with that isn’t part of Voltron?”

Nope. Keith has absolutely no interest in conversing with anyone from the Garrison. The only people from it that he’d grown used to happen to fight alongside him in gigantic alien robot cats.  Intercepting Lance was an impulsive decision on his part, and Keith is beginning to think that it was obviously a huge mistake. It’s probably better to retreat now; at least he managed to get Lance away from that parasitic blond guy. He’ll take the small victory.

"If you've forgotten," Keith says, agitation leaking into his tone, "they expelled me. So no. I don’t have anyone that I’m dying to talk to.”

He's expecting another snarky remark, but instead Lance purses his lips before sweeping his gaze across the room. "Can't say I blame you," he says after a moment. "The company does leave a lot to be desired, unless you're in the mood to get yelled at for failing a flight sim."

The joke isn't very funny, and only serves to aggravate him - this entire room feels hostile to Keith, and he doesn't need another reminder of the countless times he was criticized for  _having so much potential but continually throwing it away because of his inability to work with others._ Coupled with the fact that he’s in this stupidly impractical dress uniform and in a room full of people he hates, Keith lets his temper get the best of him. Rather than doing something like lash out at Lance, though, he bites down on a nasty response and turns on his heel to leave. He’s been here for long enough, anyway; surely Shiro will be able to cover for his absence if necessary.

“Oh, come on, grumpy,” Lance calls out before he’s made it more than four steps away. “They’re holding a ball for us, the least we can do is look grateful.  Besides, everyone is having fun except us.”

It’s true. A quick glance around the room shows that Shiro had moved away from Keith and into Allura’s arms, and they’re gliding around the room in some sort of graceful waltz. Even Pidge and Hunk are getting into the music echoing throughout the hall, though they are decidedly less elegant and much more amusing to watch as Hunk spins her wildly in circles.

Coran’s over by the live orchestra - which, holy shit, what kind of budget does the Garrison have, to throw a ball like this - and looks utterly captivated by Earthling instruments.

They’re the only ones not currently doing anything.

“Fine,” Keith says, the word clipped. “Come on, let’s go.” His words are short, but it’s mostly to cover up his sudden nervousness at the idea of _dancing_ with Lance.

Lance hesitates just long enough for Keith to look and see that Iverson, across the hall, is glaring at him. Is it because he’s talking to Keith? Or is he hesitating because he doesn’t want to be here with him right now?

He hopes it’s just the former.

“You’re one of the strongest defenders of the universe,” Keith says, and the words are as much of a reassurance to Lance as they are to himself. “If Iverson wants to harass you for dancing with me, then you could probably knock him on his ass in three seconds flat.”

Red fills Lance’s cheeks, and it looks too good, seeing his own color on that dark skin. Before he loses his nerve, Keith grabs his hand and pulls him onto the floor.

One substantial fact of import that he seems to have forgotten: Keith is a horrid dancer.

This he knows, but embarrassing himself publicly in front of people he despises seems a more desirable fate than letting some random Garrison student distract Lance enough for his eyes to stop continuously tracking Keith’s frame.

He’s not jealous, he tells himself. It’s just that Lance is one of Voltron’s paladins, and he can do way better than some random human who has never seen the way Lance handles a gun, or saves the lives of his friends from hundreds of feet away.

Once they make it to the floor, they’re surrounded by many couples swirling and twirling around them. Keith feels awkward, and he’s positive they both look stiff and uncomfortable among them, but Lance seems to be pretending that this is normal and he follows lead.

"Andrew mentioned that you’re still talked about pretty highly in classes,” he says. His casual tone belies the movement of his hands as he rests one at the small of Keith's back and slides the other down the length of Keith's forearm, fingers circling his wrist. It's a startlingly intimate gesture, but - well, they're adults. This isn't some primary school dance, and the couples around them certainly have no qualms about getting up close and personal, so Keith steels himself and moves his own limbs to mirror Lance's. His touch feels searing even through the stupid layers of Keith’s suit, and it’s a difficult task to focus on the conversation rather than the fact that he feels so hot he might spontaneously combust within the next few seconds.

He also doesn’t want to hear about a single thing that _Andrew_ told Lance, but he manages not to say so aloud. “That’s great,” he says flatly.

“Yeah, he also talked about how everyone’s scrambling to cover up the fact that we were all announced dead a few years back, but hey, can’t win them all.”

The more Lance talks about what he discussed with Andrew, the more Keith wants to commit homicide. The two of them have traveled through time and space together, but Lance _really_ finds some bland human that interesting?

“Hey,” Lance says, drawing him out of his thoughts, and then there are fingers on his chin that turn his head to meet Lance’s gaze head-on. “Are you okay, really?”

It’s a forward action, and Keith can’t help but drop his gaze down to Lance’s mouth as he speaks. They’re so close; it would only take leaning forward a few inches to press their lips together –

“Yeah,” Keith says sharply, drawing back as though shocked. He can’t risk something like this; even entertaining the notion of Lance being interested in him like that is dangerous.

Lance looks surprised by his response, but thankfully drops it. They continue to sway to the music, and without any complicated dance steps involved, it’s kind of… nice. Keith’s absolutely positive they still look ridiculous together, but at least he isn’t mortified.  He’s so focused on trying not to ruin the moment by stepping on Lance’s feet that he almost misses his next words.

“Do you think it's killing Iverson that you're here and way more successful than he’ll ever be?”

Keith thinks about how envious his former instructor must be that he gets to pilot Red, and can’t help but grin. “Seems like karmic justice to me.”

“It’d be too obvious so don’t look,” Lance says conspiratorially, “but he’s just standing there trying to glare a hole through us. Maybe we should give him a show with Red and Blue later?”

It immediately makes Keith think of another kind of _show_ the two of them could be engaging in, and he flushes. “Uh. Yeah. Maybe.”

“Aw,” Lance says, squeezing Keith’s shoulder with the hand currently placed atop it. “I liked your smile a lot more than this weird blushy scowl.” He moves his hand away from Keith’s back to gesture wildly in order to accompany his words, and Keith simultaneously misses its presence and freezes as Lance’s words register.

“Are you… flirting with me?”

There’s a pause, his question hanging in the air, before: “Do you want me to be?”

Keith’s entire world seems to hinge on those words. He must let out some kind of strangled noise, or show his emotions too clearly on his face, because he doesn’t actually remember confirming how desperately he wants Lance to be looking at him, talking to him like _that,_ but Lance seems to understand him perfectly anyway.

They stand like that for a timeless moment, staring at one another. Then Lance’s eyes light up, and under any other circumstances Keith would be appropriately concerned. For now, though, a shot of adrenaline courses through him when Lance cranes his neck to whisper in his ear, “I think I know of something we could do that would infuriate Iverson more, are you in?”

It’s a lightning-quick change of topic, but the moment he agrees, Lance excitedly grabs his hand and pulls him off the floor. For all that the ball is supposed to be centered on Voltron’s paladins, nobody seems to notice as Keith and Lance slip out of the massive room and into the less-occupied hallways of the Garrison.

A mischievous grin parts Lance’s lips. “Follow me.”

It’s sort of surreal, hurrying through the halls he had long ago memorized. The air is thick with tension now, and his heartbeat is loud in his ears as he trails after Lance.

“Maybe this is a little too forward,” Lance starts, and Keith snorts. When is Lance _not candid_? “But I’m hoping you aren’t too opposed to fooling around in Iverson’s office?”

 _Quiznak._ They haven’t even kissed yet – haven’t even really talked about the tension strung taut like a wire between them – and Lance is already thinking about _fooling around?_

“No,” Keith says, feeling lightheaded. If this is a dream, he doesn’t ever want to wake up. He has no recollection of drinking anything at the gala, but this seems way too good to be true. Maybe he’s hallucinating. “I don’t mind.”

In fact, it sounds thrilling. Lance has joked about his disregard for authority in the past, but this is something that sounds so appealing it’s probably wrong. He’s hard, and walking quickly through the halls is growing uncomfortable. He’s not sure if it’s the idea of it, or the fact that he’s with _Lance_ ,  but nevertheless he feels giddy with anticipation. They round the corner and Iverson’s office door comes into view and Keith briefly prays that this isn’t one of those dreams where he wakes up just before it gets to the good part.

“Locked,” Lance says when he tries the door, but, fortunately, that’s nothing more than child’s play to someone with any experience.

He drops to his knees and pulls out a few tools to pick the lock – honestly, he doesn’t go anywhere with at least a basic set of tools after a mission where he and Lance had ended up imprisoned by an alien race who thought them enemies rather than allies without any of their weapons or supplies. (They’d had to wait for Pidge to rescue them, which had resulted in months of relentless teasing about their mutual uselessness.) He doesn’t think much of it, especially since the Garrison’s security is laughable for how prominent and successful the organization is, but he does give pause as Lance lets out a choked noise.

When he turns his head to see why, he nearly gets a faceful of Lance’s crotch, which – _oh._ No wonder Lance is currently staring down at him with what can only be described as bedroom eyes.

“Sorry,” he says instinctively, which is stupid, but all of his blood is currently rushing south and he really isn’t in full control of his mind. Hopefully being coherent isn't one of his selling points right now.

“Don’t apologize,” Lance grits out, looking around quickly to see if anyone’s heading their way. “Just hurry up.”

As soon as he utters the words, Keith hears the telltale click of the door unlocking, and after that it’s a mad scramble to dive into the dark room. As soon as the door’s closed and locked, Keith finds himself shoved up against the wall with a hot mouth pressing firmly against his own. It's a bruising kiss; they're both overeager, and it shows. Their teeth click together uncomfortably, but the pain is quickly drowned out by more pleasant sensations.

Fingers tangle in his hair, tugging sharply at the strands as they shift to slot their mouths against one another more comfortably, and it's messy and they're both inexperienced but right here, right now, it's  _perfect._ Lance’s body temperature is obscenely hot for someone whose elemental affinity is the coolness of water. Keith certainly isn’t complaining, though, not with the way a hot tongue slips past his parted lips to tangle with his own.

He whines when they part, but it’s easily forgiven as soon as Lance starts speaking. “When you walked out in this suit,” he groans, sinking his fingers into the fabric of said clothing and tugging it off Keith’s frame. “I thought I was going to die. You look so goddamned hot dressed up like this..”

“Could say the same about you,” Keith responds, sliding his uniform jacket off his shoulders as Lance’s hands rove over his body. “I was pissed I couldn’t look at you without being caught.”

Lance huffs a laugh against his neck, and Keith shivers at the sensation of breath fanning over his exposed skin. “I told myself I was too obviously checking you out, but I still couldn’t help it.”

And then he’s taking the shell of Keith’s ear into that too-hot mouth, dragging his teeth lightly over the delicate curve, and Keith squeezes his eyes shut so tightly all he sees is vivid white. It feels incredibly, but still isn’t enough, and it takes a ridiculous amount of willpower to tilt his head away from the sensation.

“I want to touch you,” he breathes, maneuvering Lance toward the sturdy-looking desk. It’s cleared of any paperwork, which is convenient but also a bit saddening because it means they won’t get to make Iverson’s life more miserable due to disorganized forms.

“There’s lube in the second drawer on the right,” Lance says, panting slightly as his back hits the surface of the desk and Keith climbs on top of him.

… What?

“What?” Keith asks. “How do you even _know_ that?”

Lance doesn’t even try to restrain his cackles. “Oh my god, the look on your face–  _Keith–"_

“I think it’s a reasonable question!” he insists.

His only response is loud, uncontrollable guffaws, and it becomes abundantly clear that nothing is going to get done while Lance clutches his stomach and laughs. (He’s really, really not complaining, though – Lance is gorgeous with pure joy upon his face, and it makes Keith eager to see just how beautiful he can be while in the throes of pleasure.)

Once Lance has calmed down enough that he’s not in hysterics anymore, he shoots Keith a stupidly attractive grin. “Hunk and I were sneaking around a few years back and saw him getting busy with his wife in here.”

Keith wrinkles his nose. It’s a wonder that neither of them were permanently scarred by such a sight. “Gross.”

“Agreed,” Lance says with a vigorous nod. “But also very useful, in this case.” And he drapes his arms over the edge of the desk – Keith takes advantage of his position to admire the stretch of fabric across his broad chest – and withdraws a half-full bottle of lube. He waggles it in the air victoriously.

“I’m going to pretend this was entirely full and didn’t come from our former teacher,” Keith says definitively before pressing Lance’s shoulders down against the wooden desk and kissing him firmly. He's imagined them together before, but reality is  _so_ much better than any of his hazy, unrealistic dreams. Lance is warm and responsive beneath him, nipping at his lips and writhing with pleasure because of  _him,_ and Keith feels dizzy with arousal.

They get lost for a little while like that, limbs entangling as they map out each others’ mouths. Keith bears down on Lance, who looks positively ravaged against the desktop, and his hips roll instinctively and press into the obvious tenting in Lance’s pants.

Stifling a groan is nigh impossible as they grind against each other, and Keith doesn’t even bother trying. The air is filled with their breathy pants and moans, and Keith belatedly realizes that there just so happens to be a seemingly innocuous bottle sitting on the desk that could _definitely_ improve their current fooling-around. He blames his sluggish thought processes on the aroused haze overtaking him, but fortunately there’s an easy remedy.

With the bottle in hand, though, Keith hesitates briefly. “Have you ever…”

“No,” Lance says, and he’s blushing beautifully again. Despite it, way he’s looking up at Keith is earnest and trusting. “I’ve – done stuff to myself before, though, so it’s not entirely unfamiliar.”

Keith is suddenly very, very thankful for the research he’d done on the Garrison’s internet servers a handful of years back when he’d developed an unfortunate crush on one of his male classmates.

“Okay,” he says to steel himself, but then Lance is wiggling out of his dress trousers and boxers beneath him, and all thoughts of being nervous fly out of his mind. There’s a gorgeous, dark-skinned, almost naked boy beneath him, and that takes precedence over anything else. He swallows thickly.

Regardless of its questionable acquisition, the lube helps his first finger glide in pretty easily to the second knuckle. Lance takes it masterfully, eyebrows furrowed and eyes screwed shut as Keith wiggles it around slightly.

“Fuck,” he breathes, because he has absolutely no idea how he’s supposed to manage stretching Lance out properly without spontaneously orgasming. “You okay?”

“Fan _tastic,”_ Lance purrs, sounding for all the world like a goddamn sex kitten.

“Good,” he breathes, thrusting in and out shallowly. Lance is tight, and searingly hot even down here, and feeling the resistance and then subtle give of flesh as he fucks Lance with his finger seals the deal: there is no way Keith’s imagination could’ve conjured up something this hot. It’s all real, beautifully, stunningly real, and he’s going to devour Lance entirely.

Lance’s erection flags slightly when Keith introduces a second finger, but he’s read that such a thing is fairly typical. He takes his time, making sure that while it may be uncomfortable, it isn't _painful._  The stretch doesn’t always feel good, especially if you haven’t found the right spot to press up against –

All of a sudden, Lance keens loudly, and it’s music to Keith’s ears. There’s something immensely satisfying about how far gone he is because of Keith’s ministrations, and he drinks up the mewls of pleasure that fill the room before slipping in a third finger in after drizzling it with some more borrowed lube.

“Keith,” he says, voice high as Keith scissors his fingers open and tries to focus on the smooth, slippery feeling of Lance’s hole. “I’m ready.”

He definitely isn’t, but Keith isn’t about to tell him that. Stretching him properly takes time that neither of them want to spend, but all of his research had assured him that over-preparing was more than just a recommendation, especially for those without significant experience. As painful as his erection is, still confined in his dress pants, Keith knows it would be much worse for Lance if they did something before he was ready.  Lance is far too tight around his fingers to be able to handle anything with a wider girth, but his thready, needy tone makes it hard to resist him.

With his free hand, Keith wraps his fingers around Lance’s length and pumps it slowly in tandem with the thrusts of his fingers. The loud curse that fills the air is its own reward, as well as the loud thud of Lance’s head cracking against the sturdy wooden desk as he arches his neck in response to the touch.

“Sorry,” Keith murmurs, not feeling very apologetic at all. To soothe the way his head must hurt, he shifts down and promptly licks a stripe up Lance’s length. 

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Lance whimpers pathetically. In an attempt at stimulation, he cants his hips, trying desperately to fuck himself on Keith's fingers. It's hot to see him so frantic, but Keith still forces his hand to still completely at the wanton display. “Keith, let me come – “

“No,” he says, and he means it to come out commanding but instead it comes out unsteady and breathy. “Not until I’m inside of you.”

Lance moans at that, his hole spasming around Keith’s inserted fingers. Fuck, Keith’s not going to last after penetrating this tight heat. “Then get in me _now.”_

He’s a needy little thing in bed, apparently, and Keith can’t even lie and say it’s anything but sinfully attractive. The way he bows his back, long legs spread and splayed wide on the desk, paints a beautiful picture, and it's something Keith is going to continue to think about for a  _long_ time.

Keith curls his fingers once more, just to see Lance shudder as he brushes against his prostate. “Is there a _please_ in there somewhere?”

Lance looks up at him incredulously, eyes wide and glassy with pleasure. If Keith isn’t mistaken, there’s a bit of drool forming at the corner of his mouth, and seeing it serves to bolster his confidence. He grins ferally when Lance asks, “ _Seriously?”_

Keith takes the opportunity to withdraw his fingers. “I’m waiting,” he says, quite seriously. It’s hard to keep a straight face with Lance looking like he’s a second away from falling apart completely, but Keith’s harder than he can ever remember being and, perhaps more than anything else, is stubborn. He isn’t about to concede the point to someone who’s always seen him as a rival.

There is a veritable _pout_ on Lance’s features as he averts his gaze and says, quietly, “Please fuck me,” and Keith almost comes on the spot.

“Jesus, Lance,” he groans. Taking his pants off entirely is far too much fucking effort, and Keith barely manages to shove them down and out of the way before he’s squirting lube into the palm of his hand and stroking himself a few times. The lube warms up quickly, and he’s sensitive enough that he could probably come just like this, arched over Lance’s naked body, but that would be a complete waste.

It would make a stunning image, though, Lance’s dark skin covered by his own seed.

He maneuvers until he’s pressing against Lance’s entrance, willing himself to calm down before he _does_ come all over Lance instead of inside of him.

“I’m not going to break,” Lance says, and it sounds enough like a goad that Keith can’t help but slowly sink down into his tight heat until he’s fully sheathed.

The feeling is remarkable, and Keith has never been more thankful that Lance’s hiss of pain indicates he needs to sit inside of him just like this, unmoving as Lance adjusts to his size, because he’s positive that he would have come instantly otherwise.

It could be seconds or an eternity before they finally start to move – he’s lost any and all comprehension of time. Lance starts out slow, gyrating his hips against the desk’s surface in small rotations as he gets used to Keith inside of him. For his part, Keith’s entire existence has shrunk to this moment: this overwhelming sensation and overflow of feeling as he begins to fuck Lance in earnest.

His thrusts are erratic, jerky, but they eventually pick up a rhythm, and it doesn’t take much longer beyond that before Lance clenches involuntarily around him and his cock throbs before he spills all over himself.

Keith’s last coherent thought is Lance’s name as his own climax hits, crashing over him like a goddamn typhoon, and then he collapses on top of sweaty, overheated flesh.

 

* * *

 

“My family’s on their way,” Lance says, breaking through the quiet lull. It takes Keith a moment to register the words – he feels like he could sleep for the next fifteen hours. They’re still curled up together on Iverson’s huge desk, which probably is a bad idea given the fact that they might get caught for breaking and entering, but neither of them can bear to move their noodly limbs currently, and anyway they can still hear music playing, signifying that the gala’s still ongoing.

He remembers that the first thing Pidge had done upon landing her lion on Earth was to send out a beacon to everyone’s families, to reassure them that they were alive and going to be on Garrison property waiting to see them again.

Keith stays quiet, waiting to see where this goes.

“If you, uh.” His words are stilted and nervous, in a way that he rarely hears Lance sound. “If you’re comfortable with it, I’d like you to meet them when they come.”

He’s intelligent enough to read between the lines: it’s clear that Lance isn’t just asking him to greet his parents and siblings as a team member of their son’s.

“Moving a little fast, huh?” he says in an attempt to lighten the mood, but the joke falls flat, if the way Lance squeezes his eyes shut and turns away is any indicator. Turns out communication isn’t the easiest of processes. Keith winces. “That was a joke, idiot.”

“A bad one,” Lance says weakly. “I’m opening my heart up to you here, Keithy boy.”

It’s a stupid nickname, but he’s bantered with Lance for long enough to know it’s an attempt to distract him from the honest truth of the rest of his words.

“This,” Keith starts, internally cursing his lack of ability to say things eloquently like Shiro or Allura. “This isn’t something I would just… do randomly, Lance. Or do once and forget about. I like you. And I’d love to meet your family.”

Lance’s grin is brilliant, even in the dim lighting, and Keith is beginning to think that maybe it _isn’t_ such a bad thing to act on your feelings.

 


End file.
